Hope Awakens in You
by GeorgyannWayson
Summary: She's a nameless face that hides in the many scars and wounds that she yields. But Fate had a different idea for how her life would eventually turn out. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, she is redeemed and reborn under his hand and is called by a new name: Anthea. (Warning: alcohol and domestic abuse fic) (COMPLETE)
1. Chapter One- Hopeless

**Hope Awakens In You**

**WARNING: This very short story is based in alcohol and domestic abuse. I promise it isn't horribly graphic, but you have been warned…**

**Oh, and I don't own BBC's Sherlock. I just own the idea.**

**Chapter One – Hopeless**

She walked down the street, wincing from the pain in her ribs. Justin had kicked her harder than usual; she actually had to make sure he didn't break anything as she slowly limped from the flat through the streets of London. Her bare feet burned with pain, the rocks and pebbles of the street digging into her skin. She wished she could walk until her body gave out, until she breathed out a last breath of freedom, but she knew better than to disappear from his sight forever. He would find her no matter where she went.

She sat on a curb, whimpering as her ribs screamed in pain. She rocked in a weak effort to alleviate the discomfort. _You're an idiot_, a dark voice hissed in her head. _Dinner late again because you fell asleep. You're such an imbecile; that's why Justin hits you. You deserve every. Single. Blow._

Raising her sleeve, she winced at the dark purple blotches decorating her wrists. It was getting harder to hide the scars, the bumps, the wounds. He was getting more violent, and despite the fact that she tried to withstand it, she found it harder and harder to face him each time he came at her.

She got up again and started walking, ignoring the jeer from a group of men passing by her. Sexy? No, not her. She was fat, ugly, a nobody and a nothing. With no education, no skills and nowhere to go, she was completely without an identity. Hell, she didn't even own a name anymore. Justin was right. She was useless without him, a compass with nowhere to point. What use was she to anyone?

The desire for shelter from the cold night air drove her toward a café and she walked in, sitting in a corner booth and pulling her knees to her chest to try and gain her composure back. She had to be over the recent attack before she went back home, or else Justin would be angry…and who knows how far he would take it to make sure she forgot?

"All right there, love?" an elderly man behind the counter called to her, eying her with what she thought was concern. She nodded wordlessly, drawing into herself tighter. The man went into the back briefly and came back out with slice of chocolate pie and a cup of coffee, setting it down in front of her.

"You should eat, dear. You look a fright," he said softly, smiling at her before walking off. With a pause, she slowly unfolded herself and picked up the fork sitting on the table, taking a bite of the pie. It tasted like heaven; before she knew it, she scarfed the slice and coffee down, even going so far as to lick the plate clean of any crumbs. Realizing that she wasn't being very civil in that moment, she threw the fork down, disgusted with her appalling behavior. She could see Justin laughing at her desperation, making fun of her for being so willing to eat food from a stranger's hand.

The elderly man came back and his eyes widened at her clean dishes.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked gently, not bothering to wait for an answer as he went back into the back. A few dishes clattered around, and soon, he reemerged with a plate of roast, potatoes and carrots, setting it down and sitting down across from her. She looked suspiciously from him to the food and picked up her fork again.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him, trying to consciously take smaller bites of food so as to not alarm the man. He smiled.

"You remind me of my daughter, actually," the man said with a soft chuckle. "I almost thought you were her, but…I had to remind myself that she's still in the ground in the cemetery." She swallowed some roast.

"What happened to her?"

"She died in a car accident," the man said grimly. "Drunk driver."

"I'm sorry," she replied sincerely.

"It's life." the man sighed, running a hand down his face. "You know, when my daughter died, I learned that sometimes life puts us through some of the hardest situations in order to help us find out who we really are." She blinked at the man's statement.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I believe you don't know how strong you really are until you face your worst fears. When Maggie and I lost Julianna, it was so hard. I never thought that I would smile again. I was unhappily employed at the time, and Maggie suggested that in order to cheer myself up, I try to start a café, like the one I used to work in when I was younger. Well, I wasn't really up to the idea, but I needed something to do, so I went for it. And now, here I am. Making a living doing what I love. Talking to people, like you and serving them food, one of the universal ties of human beings." She looked down to her plate, pushing a piece of carrot around.

"Sounds like you've found your calling."

"I have." He nodded. "If Julianna hadn't died, I wonder if I would be here." He shrugged. "Probably not, but you never know." He fell silent and watched as she ate, trying her hardest to take the smallest bites possible. She was starving, and she was hurting…deeper than in the physical realm.

"How long have you been with him?" the man asked her suddenly, making her look up in shock. "He's not very good at hiding his handiwork." He nodded toward her exposed wrist, the bruises looking horrifying under the fluorescent light. She looked down to her lap.

"Too long," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "Three years…four months…six days," her voice cracked and a tear fell down her cheek. She was embarrassed to be crying in front of a stranger, but he didn't seem repulsed; if anything, he looked heartbroken for her.

"You don't deserve to be abused," the man said gently. She didn't look at him, the shame of not being able to hide Justin's abuse overwhelming her. "It's not right for a man to hit a woman…for any reason," he stressed. "I know it may seem like you can't leave him, but you can. All you have to do is be brave enough to walk away." She bit her bottom lip at his words; she felt something in her lurch at the hopeful tone of his voice. How she wished she could believe him…but he didn't know the monster behind the mask, the nightmare that he created for her within the prison of her mind.

"Thank you for the food," she said suddenly, dropping her fork and getting up to walk off before he could stop her. On her way back to the flat, she stopped at the liquor store and bought the usual bottle of whiskey he would expect, making sure to not let the clerk see her bruises. As she walked down the road again, she likened herself to a soldier going into battle; only she knew that she would lose the war before it even began...

* * *

The TV was blasting when she opened the door to the flat. Shutting it quietly so as not to disturb his program, she tiptoed back behind his chair.

"Where were you?" Justin barked from his chair, causing her to jump. He stood to his feet and took a swing from the bottle in his hand, staring at her.

"I was just getting some whiskey for you." She held up the bag with the bottle. He laughed softly, walking toward her and grabbing the bag roughly.

"Good girl," he praised, making her cringe. "You know just how to make up for your mistakes." He set the bottle he was drinking from down, and opened the new one, taking a swing. "My dinner was late," he said after a few seconds of tense silence.

"It was just by 20 minutes-"

"It was still late!" Justin shouted, hitting the table with his fist. She jumped and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down to the floor.

"Of course you're sorry, you're always sorry!" He threw the almost finished bottle of whiskey against the wall and it shattered with a loud crash that made her ears ring. "You're so stupid, you know that?!" She felt herself cower.

"I know I am-"

"No, I don't think you do." Justin said as he stalked up close to her and started to circle her, like a lion stalking his prey. "You're dumb as a brick." He spat on her cheek and she whimpered, wiping at her face. "Don't know why I keep you around…" he grumbled, walking past her to pick back up the bottle to take a swing. "You thinking about leaving?" he barked.

"No, I would never-" she started, but her words failed as he grabbed her hair, jerking her head back. She whined as her scalp began to burn

"Liar," he hissed in her face, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath. "You better listen to me: you're not leaving me because I own you. You know how much I own you? Why don't you tell me your name?" he asked her in a mocking tone and she swallowed.

"Bitch," she whispered, the sob that she was trying to hold back escaping from her throat.

"That's right." He opened the door and dragged her outside, throwing her on the hard concrete. She landed on her bruised ribs and held back a scream of pain. "And that's all you'll ever be!" He spat on her again and slammed the door. She sobbed into the ground, both from pain in her physical body and of utter humiliation at sleeping outside for the third time in a week. With the strength she had left, she dragged herself toward the corner where she hid her thin blanket and pulled it out, haphazardly laying it over herself in an attempt to cover her against the night wind.

"Why doesn't he just kill me?" she whispered, sobbing at her own question. Shivering, she huddled in a small ball and willed herself to just die. _No one would miss me anyway_, she thought to herself as she fell into a fitful sleep.

**NOTE: Sooooo I like the character of Anthea. So much mystery surrounding this beautiful woman. Thought I'd try my hand at giving her a story of how she became Mycroft's personal assistant. It shouldn't be too long, a couple of chapters or so; I thank you for any feedback!**

**GW**


	2. Chapter Two - Darkness Before the Dawn

**Chapter Two – The Darkness Before the Dawn**

_Abused._

The word made Mycroft Holmes stop his deductions in its tracks as he watched the woman walk down the street, her jacket pulled close to her body as she kept her head down to the ground. He could see the slight limp from a recent injury to her lower leg; her stance suggested that she had a recent blow to her ribs that left her in great pain. Her dark chocolate brown hair spilled around her face and shoulders, as to give her an appearance of being invisible in the middle of the crowd.

But despite her best efforts to hide, he saw her

She stood by the corner and held herself tighter, biting her bottom lip and almost doubling over in what he could tell was a ripple of pain that went through her body. While the crowd she was in the middle of went past her and across, she leaned against the lamppost and took deep breaths, her face contorted as she tried to handle her pain quietly.

Who would do such a thing to such an innocent person, he thought to himself.

To Mycroft's surprise, he started to feel something...familiar, yet distant as he watched her regain her composure. It was something likened to when Sherlock was in rehabilitation for drugs, and he would see that his brother wasn't handling his withdrawals well. It was something that was identical to when his mother's father died, and she cried for days, not bothering to let anyone comfort her. What was this feeling that tugged at what he assumed was his heart? Why did he feel so drawn to her?

Pity, he concluded. He was feeling pity for her.

She walked across the road toward him and he casually dropped his newspaper in front of her, so she was forced to stop.

"My apologies," he said politely as he leaned down to grab it. She refused to look at him, but made a small noise and continued on her way. He watched her retreating back and made a mental note to find out who she was, so he could keep an eye on her. Somewhere, deep down, he had a feeling that she wasn't being watched out for like she should.

* * *

"I thought I said this place had to be spotless when I got home!" Spit flew in her face as Justin screamed at her, looking around at the living room and kitchen. He was referring to the sink, which had dishes in it from when she cooked dinner. She was getting ready to start on them when he walked in the door.

"I was almost finished-" she started to say, but Justin's hand flew out and slapped her before she could finish her plea, knocking her into the glass table and shattering it with a loud crash. The glass cut into her arm and she felt warm liquid flow out and drip onto the floor as she lay seemingly lifeless. She hoped that he would just walk away as the blood started to pool around her, but he was relentless in his pursuit.

"Do you get pleasure out of making me feel like an arse, Bitch?!" He grabbed her and picked up by her hair, his fist connecting with her nose. She felt the crunch of cartilage and almost blacked out from the intense pain and shock, but he jerked her head up so she was forced to open her eyes and look at him.

"You." He punched her in the mouth. "Deserve." She saw stars as he hit her left eye. "This." Each punch drove her more and more into darkness until there was nothing but the roar of the beast echoing in her ears as she slipped away into unconsciousness….

* * *

"And it turned out it was the maid!" Sherlock bounced in his seat in bliss across from Mycroft's chair. "You know, I love it when the maid does it; there's something about when a little old lady gets a hankering to murder that makes me have hope in the human race again." Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's rambling. As happy as he was that Sherlock was finally out of rehabilitation and in the real world, he wasn't too interested in hearing about his new job as a consulting detective for Scotland Yard.

"What part of 'I'm busy' do you not understand?" He asked somewhat impatiently as he scanned through the photos of the mysterious woman from the day before that were brought to him earlier. Sherlock stood up and quickly took a photo from the file. "Sherlock!" Mycroft tried to reach for the photo, but Sherlock jumped back and stared at the face of the mysterious woman.

"You're not going to find her," Sherlock said after a few seconds, looking up. "She wants to remain unseen." Mycroft scowled.

"No one is unseen by the British government," he said simply, snatching the photo back.

"Oh, yes, the British government. How could I EVER forget about the British government and their incessant need to know everyone's business?" Sherlock flopped back down in his seat. "But I'm telling you, you're not going to find her that easily. She's used to dwelling in the shadows."

"Well, I manage to keep up with you, and you're the ultimate chameleon," Mycroft replied dryly as he shut the file and set it down on his desk. "Doesn't seem difficult to find out about this young lady."

"So, why are you so interested in her?" Sherlock put his hands under his chin in a prayer position and tilted his head. "She's just some random person you saw on the street. Now, here you are, basically stalking her."

"I'm not stalking her."

"Hmmm, yes you are." Sherlock nodded, as if he was agreeing with himself. Mycroft sighed and put his hand to his knee.

"Why am I sitting here, trying to explain myself to you?" he suddenly asked in annoyance.

"Well, I'm just giving you a chance to freely give me the answer before I have to wring it out of you. So will you play along or not?" A mischievous smile spread across Sherlock's face and Mycroft knew that he was basically cornered, destined to be pestered until he gave his little brother the answer he was looking for.

With a deep sigh, Mycroft shrugged. "I made a deduction about her, and I don't think it's fair that it's happening to her."

Sherlock's eyes squinted. "The abuse?"

"Yes."

Sherlock looked off at something behind Mycroft and nodded. "So you're feeling like you need to rescue her."

"I don't FEEL the need to rescue anyone," Mycroft said.

"Okay, maybe 'feel' isn't the right word, but…you sense an obligation to pull her out of her situation, despite the fact that you know she won't leave him." The room fell into silence.

"Change the subject. Now." Mycroft got up from his chair and walked over the mini bar to pull out a bottle of water from the fridge.

"So, here's how she did it," Sherlock said happily after a few tense seconds of silence, and Mycroft sat back down in his chair, prepared to listen to the extremely boring tale, his gaze barely leaving the file on his desk.

* * *

**NOTE: Thanks to anon 92 and BlindViolinist for your reviews and to Helen Nurse for the story follow! Double thanks to netfox for the story favorite and follow!**

**BlindViolinist, if you ever come back to this story, please know I wasn't irritated at all at your request! I didn't make it clear enough in my author's note that this was a multi-chapter story; I meant to say it's just going to be a SHORT multi-chapter story.**

**Comments would be greatly appreciated! See you lovelies next time!**

**GW**


	3. Chapter Three - The Rising of the Sun

**Chapter Three – The Rising of The Sun**

He couldn't stop smelling it.

Sherlock raised his nose and sniffed again. It was very faint, but there was no mistaking that smell. He stopped walking and looked around at the seeming quiet scene around him; barely anyone was around, so who and where was the smell coming from?

He sniffed again and went down an alleyway, slowly walking and occasionally pausing to make sure he was on the right track. And as he got closer to the dumpster, the metallic smell started to get stronger and stronger until it was undeniable that it was blood. Without a second thought, he opened the lid to the dumpster, pulled out some bags of trash and there he saw the woman in the photograph from Mycroft's file.

But at the same time, it wasn't her.

She was completely naked, her body almost blue from the harsh cold of the night. Her face was beaten beyond recognition; both eyes were swollen shut and her bottom jaw hung in a grotesque position, almost as if it was hanging on by one hinge. Bald patches shone in the pale moonlight where section of her hair had been completely ripped out. Bruises of all different sizes, shapes and colors were scattered all across her arms, legs and neck, but the largest one was right across her stomach; a thick purple bar that stretched the width of her torso and looked like if it was touched, would be completely solid.

_Some of these are obviously weeks old,_ Sherlock thought as he scanned her body. He leaned and studied the bruise across her stomach closer. _Made with a metal object, probably a curtain rod. _

Sherlock gently touched her wrist and was surprised to feel a very faint pulse. For a reason he couldn't explain, she had lived through her attack. A very soft mew of a sound came from her, but it was more of a cry of paralyzing pain than of an awareness of his presence. He pulled his hand back and pulled out his phone, holding it to his ear.

"Lestrade," he said quickly, putting his fingers back on her wrist to keep checking her pulse. "Get an ambulance and a forensics team out here to Marigold Road. And hurry." He hung up without another word, took off his trench coat to cover her and stood by her side, until the ambulance arrived.

* * *

_Come to St. Barts. There's something you need to see – SH_

The text message made Mycroft groan. If Sherlock really thought he was going to leave his flat in the middle of night just to look at a dead body, he was sorely mistaken.

_I'm busy – MH_

_She's been attacked – SH_

Mycroft read the text a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things and quickly got up and grabbed his coat. He knew something big was going to happen, but he didn't realize it would've been so soon.

_How serious?- MH_

_Serious enough to land in Critical Care - SH_

Mycroft walked faster and called for his driver to come to the front of the building to pick him up. As the driver drove down the road, he put his hands to his lips in deep and conflicting thought. She must've done something that made her partner snap, but he had a very strong suspicion that it didn't warrant him almost beating her to death - not even close.

The driver stopped in front of St. Barts and Mycroft walked with his head tall, chin jutting out as he strode up the steps. He needed to make sure she didn't go back to him; he was quite sure that if she even tried, he would make sure she didn't survive a second round at his hands...

* * *

The darkness was slowly disappearing as the sounds of something she couldn't recognize floated to her ears. As though she was drawn out from being underwater, the sounds became somewhat sharper and clear, and it was soon apparent what it was: the beep of a machine.

She tried to open her eyes, but found that her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton each. Slowly, she started to try and move her arm, but a sharp pain in her side made her stop and whine ever so softly. Somewhere in the distance, a voice made a sound of surprise and came close to her bedside.

"Ms. Doe?" A garbled voice softly called by her face. "Can you hear me?" She struggled to breathe against the pain that rested into each curve of her body as it became more and more aware. "If you can hear me, try to nod." With as much effort as she could manage, she bobbed her head a few centimeters.

"You're in the hospital," the voice continued. "You're going to be okay." She felt herself break out into a sweat and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. The voice continued to talk, but she had stopped listening, lost in the echoes of longing for her death. What kind of cruel mistress was Fate to let her live? What purpose was it to anyone that she did? She felt herself slip away again as the thoughts and voices of her torn emotions overwhelmed her, pushing her back down into the celestial pool of unconsciousness…

* * *

When she awoke again, curiosity of where she was forced her to try and open her eyes. She could barely open them, but the tiny slits she managed would do. With as much energy as she could spare, she lifted her head and took a quick look around her; she was in a very plush room, almost like a hotel room, yet with an extremely strong smell of drugs and clean floors. The machines beeped around her bedside and she looked down to see what looked like to be all sorts of IVs hooked into her arm. She laid back, suddenly suspicious; how did she get there? How long had she been there? Her body was extremely stiff and sore, like someone had covered her with a layer of lead and left her to set.

Before she could continue to ponder, the door to her room opened and a shadow stood there, the gaze of it burning into her body. She let out a small sound of panic; Justin had found her. She wished her mouth wasn't so numb so she could scream for help. Noticing her reaction, the shadow slowly started to approach her.

"Don't be afraid." She stopped at its –his- voice. That voice wasn't a voice to be reckoned with; it was pure authority, yet it sounded...soft, almost tender at the same time. "I'm not going to hurt you." He moved away and pulled a chair up next to her bedside to sit down. She turned her face away, suddenly humiliated at him seeing her in such a compromising position. The suffocating tendrils of fear seized her and she slowly started to try and scoot away.

"Stop moving," he said patiently, almost as if he was talking to a small child. "You're using more energy than you need to." Beads of sweat ran down from her forehead with the effort of trying to move herself and reluctantly, she stopped and relaxed back on the pillows. "You've been in and out of consciousness for three days," he said, relaying the information with an air of casual conversation. "You suffered a broken jaw, nose, collarbone, 5 broken ribs and what I assume is a rather long list of other smaller, less painful injuries." She didn't reply; she couldn't, even if she wanted to, her mouth was so stiff.

"You'll be here for awhile," he continued. "But you're in control of how much of your recovery you want to participate in. I suggest you consider doing what the doctors tell you; I imagine you'd like to go back to living your life as soon as possible..." The last phrase almost sounded like a question. A question in which she didn't dare even think about. Going back to Justin seemed like a death wish, but where else could she go?

"What is your name?" He asked after a moment of silence. Her body tensed and she winced as her muscles caved into one another.

"Don't…have…" Somehow she managed to force the words out and they sounded foreign to her ears, her voice weak from underuse and strained with effort. A ripple of pain shot through her and cut off the last word, but he managed to finish the sentence.

"Everyone has a name, even those that wish they didn't." She heard him lean back in the chair. Her jaw burned as she tried her best to form words, ignoring the shoots of pain throughout her chin and cheeks.

"Why…you…care?"

"Let's just say that even in a world of goldfish, sometimes there's one that seems a little different than the rest." She had no idea what he meant by that, but from his tone, she could tell that he was humoring her a bit. For a minute, she debated pretending to fall asleep so he would leave, but she had a feeling that he would probably wait by her bedside until she caved. With every ounce of strength, she could muster, she spoke.

"Bitch." The word made the air in the room stop. The man didn't seem surprised by what she said, but she did sense that he was a little put off by her sudden use of foul language.

"That's not a name, that's slang for a pregnant female dog, which you are not." She turned her head to the side and gripped the sheets, fighting back the embarrassment at his scolding. "No, that will not do for you." The man moved in his seat. "I hope you don't mind me taking the initiative to give you a name, but you need something new, something different, something…unique." A pause. "I think you should be called…Anthea." He waited for her to acknowledge that she heard him, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of staking his claim on her by giving her a new name. What was his motive behind it, anyway? She had learned the hard way that letting a man give you a name was never a good thing.

She wasn't about to fall for that one again.

"Jane seems too plain, and besides, they use that name for other women like you that come in here with no identity. So it's settled, then." The man stood to his feet. "Now, get some rest. I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. In the meantime, rid yourself of that horrid name you've been called." There was no mistaking the underlying authority in his demand. "You're Anthea now, and that's final." His footsteps went to the door and he was gone.

She seethed as she laid in the bed, her hands gripping the sheets so tight, her hands began to cramp. She wasn't Anthea. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her –no, ordering her- to call herself by a new name? She didn't even know what Anthea meant, but moreover, she didn't even know why the man even bothered with such a ridiculous notion.

Anthea. She scoffed. Like hell she would indulge him and give him what he wanted.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she wrestled within herself, but it was enough time for someone new to come into the room.

"Hello, dear," a woman's voice called as she knocked on the door and walked in. "I've brought you a tray, I think you should start trying to eat some food as you feel you can." The woman set the tray down and brought it next to her bed. "I'm Helen, I'll be taking care of you today. What's your name?" Through the slits, she stared at Helen and for a moment, contemplated staying quiet...

But something inside of her urged her to say it, despite her reservations and despite her fear. No, she couldn't; that would mean that she accept his label on her, and she wasn't about to let that happen...but she thought back to how he talked to her. He wasn't harsh, cruel and belittling like she was used to hearing...if anything, he sounded like he...

Cared for her.

She took a breath and gathered whatever courage she could find to answer.

"Anthea."

* * *

**NOTE: Thanks to A genius says for the review, Vampire Princess 789 and Enfant-d'Egypte-et-de-Belgique for the story favorites and laurakey for the story follow! Double thanks to xXEtherealDreamXx for the story favorite and the review and CoraCrol93 for the story follow and favorite. Special thanks to camilia holmes for the review, story favorite and story follow!**

**This is wrapping up; maybe another two chapters or so.**

**Comments are greatly appreciated! See you all next time!**

**GW**


	4. Chapter Four - Redemption

**Chapter Four - Redemption**

True to his word, the man returned the next day and the day after that, and the day after that, until Anthea could practically pinpoint the exact second that he would walk through the door. To her surprise and slight annoyance, the man seemed abnormally interested in her. During their talks, which he mostly initiated, he constantly asked her questions, making sure to listen to her answers carefully, no matter how short they were. But she found that with each visit, she grew more and more comfortable around him, even going so far as to actually make eye contact for longer than a minute. It was truly a miracle.

She worked to grow stronger and stronger each day at the advice of the nurses and doctors, and soon enough, she was up and doing more talking, though she couldn't do it for very long without her jaw feeling sore. The man seemed very pleased with her progress, like he was watching a child learn how to walk for the very first time. She couldn't help but bask in the attention, in the fact that someone cared about what she was going through…that someone cared about her.

"You know, in all of the times we've talked, you've never told me your name," she told him one night during one of his regular visits as she struggled to open the little cup of apple juice that came with her dinner tray.

"Oh, yes, I haven't." He got up from his seat and took the juice from her hand, opening it for her with ease. "You can call me Mr. Holmes, or Sir if you prefer."

"I highly doubt 'Sir' is your name," she said as she took the juice back. He gave her a sarcastic smile and sat back down.

"I don't usually give my name out to people I don't know."

"Oh, but you'll go ahead and rename people that you don't know." She could've sworn she saw his lip twitch into a genuine smile.

"Anthea suits you better than…what you were called," he finally finished, and she chuckled that he couldn't bring himself to say the curse word. So formal and proper. This Mr. Holmes was a piece of work.

"I looked up what Anthea means." He didn't look impressed with her statement. "It means flower or blossom…" she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at his very bored stare.

"Yes."

"So…why did you choose Anthea for my name?" He looked very thoughtful at her question, almost as if he wasn't expecting her to even ask him. Finally, after a couple of minutes, he spoke.

"I guess when I saw you, I thought about a…trampled flower. Delicate, yet…crushed and broken." The room fell into silence, and Anthea felt her ears turn red at the very vivid picture he presented.

"Are you a poet or something?" She finally asked, making him scoff.

"My father was; I, however, do something much more important than throw words together all day."

"And that would be?"

"I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"Minor position? A job as a janitor might be considered a 'minor position'. You're something more than that." She scanned him up and down to prove her point; a well pressed suit to go along with the sharp hairstyle and his use of a cane barely qualified as something 'minor' in her opinion.

"You know, it's nice to see you curious instead of fearful," Mr. Holmes suddenly said, and she sighed internally at his sudden change of direction in the conversation. "You haven't even asked about the man that did this to you since you've been here." She looked down to her tray of meatloaf, her heart gaining speed as his words sunk in. "What did you do that made him so ruthlessly attack you?"

"The flat wasn't clean when he got home," she answered slowly, stabbing at the hunk of meat with her fork.

"And he decided that the best reaction would be to nearly murder you?"

"I have to admit, this beating was the worst," she bit out the words and shifted to get herself more comfortable. "It wasn't this bad before…"

"Before," he repeated. "So, for three years, you've put up with this." Her look of surprise didn't even make him react; he looked almost familiar with the knowledge, as if it was an old friend that had popped in for tea and biscuits. "Why do you stay with him if he's so cruel?" She stared at him.

"Why are you so interested in knowing the answer to that?"

"I have to admit, sometimes I don't understand why people do certain things. It's almost like I'm watching an ant farm for a science project in school. Except it's people and I'm living among them. A world of goldfish," he murmured in an afterthought. With a sigh bordering on exasperation, she put down her fork.

"He was very nice in the beginning. Charming and romantic. I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. He convinced me that I didn't need anything outside of him. He told me he would take care of me, would always love me…" She smiled at the memory, but her face fell. "Then he started drinking, and that's when he changed."

"Alcohol does strange things to the human psyche," he said with a nod. "But I can see that it was more than loyalty keeping you by his side. In fact, I would go far as to say that…you loved him." She bit her bottom lip.

"Yeah, I did."

"And that is what I don't understand." Mr. Holmes grabbed his umbrella and picked it up to look at the end of it. "Seems illogical to me to stay in a relationship with someone who constantly beats on you." He put the umbrella down. "Since when did loving someone become a matter of playing God?" His words were quiet and dark. The chair squeaked as he leaned back and put his hands to his mouth, watching her with a very intense expression.

"Sometimes, being in that type of a relationship isn't exactly logical," Anthea answered softly. "Emotions can make you blind to the truth."

"Oh, yes, the fly in the ointment of Life, emotions." He sighed tiredly and waved his hand. "I always tell my brother that caring is not an advantage. Maybe it's time to relay that advice to people outside of us."

"Your brother?"

"Sherlock." The name came out with a mix of annoyance and affection. "He's the reason you're here, actually," he added with a nod. "I should thank him or something when I see him next…whenever he isn't boring me with another tale of sleuthing around London and crime solving." Anthea chuckled.

"Maybe I should thank him, too," she said quietly.

"No, no, you don't want to overwhelm him with thanks. I fear if he gets more than one, he'll never be able to fit his head through another door." He rolled his eyes. "Sherlock can be quite the arrogant sod."

"I wonder where he gets it from…" Anthea held back a grin as Mr. Holmes sneered sarcastically in her direction.

"Hilarious," he said dryly. "Now, eat. You'll need your strength for your physical therapy tomorrow." With an eye roll of her own, she picked up her fork and started to eat her meatloaf, watching from the corner of her eye as Mr. Holmes leaned back and closed his eyes, finally letting himself rest for the first time in days.

* * *

After almost a month in the hospital, Anthea was finally given the clear to go home. The nurses and doctors that oversaw her care all came and offered their well wishes, all of the commenting in one way or another about how strong she was to overcome the intense obstacles that faced her during her treatment. From her position on the bed, she smiled at Mr. Holmes, who was watching her from his usual chair, his chest and chin almost puffed up with pride.

"So where are you going now?" He asked her after they were alone again.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I thought about trying to find a job, but I don't really have any skills to find a good one to support myself." She picked at the blankets in thought. Suddenly, Mr. Holmes stood to his feet and came to her, pulling a Blackberry out of his pocket to hand it to her. She looked between it and him, trying to distinguish what he was up to, but his straight face was impossible to read.

"You'll need this." The Blackberry came closer.

"For what?"

"For your position, starting Monday." Her eyebrow rose.

"And what exactly am I doing?"

"I need an assistant to help me keep track of some things," he said airily with a shrug.

"And you just assume I want the job?"

"It comes with everything you'll need to be comfortable," he reasoned. "You won't lack for anything, I assure you." The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

"What about Justin?" For a second, she wasn't sure if he was going to answer her, or even if he heard her in the first place, but after a minute, a look of intensity descended onto his face and his chin rose higher.

"Let's just say you'll no longer need to worry about that. I've taken care of him…" A shudder ran through her at his ominous tone. As much as she wanted to ask about Justin's fate, she was sure that Mr. Holmes wouldn't tell her anything, no matter how hard she tried to probe.

She reached out her hand and took the Blackberry from him.

"I'll see you on Monday…sir." With a nod, he turned to walk to the door.

"By the way," he said, not bothering to look back. "My name is Mycroft…though you still have to call me 'sir.'." She beamed.

"I thought you didn't give your name out to people you don't know." He looked back over his shoulder.

"Well, you're not exactly a stranger to me anymore, now are you?" With those words, he shut the door behind him and she shook her head, turning on the Blackberry to the main screen and opening up a text message to type her thoughts.

_Like a phoenix rising from the ashes_

_I was redeemed and reborn under his hand_

_And given a new name_

_I am Anthea._

**The End  
**

* * *

**NOTE: Thanks to camilia holmes, Vampire Princess 789 and A genius says for the reviews and to Generated Anomoly for the story follow!  
**

**Mini project done! Usually, I do a trivia page for each of my stories, but because this is so short, I'll just attach it into this author's note.**

**Trivia Page/Note:**

**-Most of this story came from personal experience. I wasn't severely abused to this degree, but I was given a run for my money by a man I used to call my true love and he also used to call me that "horrid name" that Justin used to call Anthea.**

**-This is the shortest multi-chapter project I've ever done (I don't count one-shots as 'projects', they're more like 'assignments')**

**-Some of the music I used to help plan and write this project was: River Flows in You by Yiruma and Tears of the East and The Approaching Night, both by Philip Wesley.**

**And that it! Thanks to everyone that took the time out to read, review, favorite and follow!**

**See you all later!**

**GeorgyannWayson**


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